


Leftovers

by enigmaticblue



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Boxing Day, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:22:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1689863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley is feeling a bit out of sorts on Boxing Day. Set in S2 of AtS, after Angel fires everybody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leftovers

Wesley opened his refrigerator door, wishing that it would magically fill itself. He hated grocery shopping, particularly at this time of the year, and his wallet was distressingly empty. Closing the door, he thought longingly of a full English breakfast. Or a real English dinner, complete with roast and Yorkshire pudding.

 

Unfortunately, he knew his cooking skills weren’t up to the task.

 

The knock on the door surprised him. He’d just seen Cordelia and Gunn yesterday when they had gathered to exchange Christmas gifts, and he wasn’t expecting to see anyone the day after.

 

He swung open the door to reveal Cordelia. “Hi.” She breezed past him before he could invite her in. “What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing,” he answered honestly. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Well, I had these leftovers, and I thought you might want to help me eat them.”

 

Wesley eyed the box she had in her hands. “Is that from dinner last night?”

 

“Yeah. I just need to heat it up.” She glanced at him. “You are hungry, right?”

 

“I am.” He was a little puzzled. They had ordered Chinese the night before, and he knew he smelled Italian. Besides, he was certain that they’d eaten every scrap of take out. “Those aren’t leftovers.”

 

She snorted. “Yes, they are.”

 

“No, they’re not,” he insisted. “I smell Italian.”

 

“Don’t you like Italian?”

 

“I do, but—”

 

“Then what’s the problem?”

 

“You can’t afford to feed us both, Cordelia,” Wesley replied. “I know that we’re all in the same position, and—”

 

She gave him a smug smile. “Angel owes us severance pay, don’t you think?”

 

It was an odd question, and didn’t seem to have much to do with her buying lunch for them. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it was that kind of job.”

 

Cordelia waved off his statement as being of no import. “He fired us right before Christmas, Wesley. Of course he owes us severance. Besides, he’s being a jerk. I think he can afford to feed us a couple of times.”

 

Wesley frowned. “Did you pick his pocket?”

 

“No, I kept his credit card,” she replied. “He probably won’t even notice.”

 

His eyebrows went up. “And when he figures it out and calls the police on you?”

 

“He won’t,” she said confidently. “He’ll just come and glower at me.” Wesley found that he couldn’t disagree. Cordelia was likely right about that. “Anyway,” she went on, when he didn’t respond, “I called Gunn, but he’s busy with his gang today. I thought you might want some company.”

 

She looked around his apartment, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “Maybe we should have stayed at my place. Your apartment is gloomy, Wes.”

 

“It’s cozy,” he objected. “Virginia doesn’t have a problem with it.”

 

“Maybe, maybe not. She might not want to hurt your feelings.” Cordelia eyed him. “I thought you were supposed to be seeing her today.”

 

He shrugged uncomfortably. “She was asked to go skiing with some friends. I told her I would be fine on my own.”

 

“She didn’t ask you to go with her?” Cordelia asked, sounding surprised.

 

He shook his head. “She did, but…” Wesley wasn’t sure how to explain the fact that he didn’t want to take more from her than he had already. He felt badly enough as it was, but to accept her offer of a vacation with all expenses paid, when he was unlikely to be able to return the favor—

 

It didn’t feel right.

 

“Makes sense,” she said, pulling the foil tray out of the oven. “I hope you like lasagna, because that’s what I got.”

 

“That’s fine.” Wesley was quiet for a moment. “Thank you, Cordy.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. “Hey, isn’t today one of those English holidays?”

 

“Boxing Day,” he explained. “It’s not that important.”

 

She looked skeptical. “What do you normally eat on Boxing Day?”

 

“Nothing special.” Wesley didn’t want to explain that the best sort of days had been when his father had been called out on Council business, and it had been just him and his mother. They would eat leftovers in a relaxed—rather than tense—silence. On those days, he didn’t have to worry about being taken to task over some small failure, or quizzed over an obscure demonic text.

 

It had been a lonely time for him, but he hadn’t known it then. Wesley hadn’t yet known what it was to have good friends.

 

“What about you?” he asked, desperate to change the subject. “What did you normally do the day after Christmas?”

 

“We generally went somewhere,” she admitted. “One year we went to Mexico, and I spent the next day on the beach, working on my tan.”

 

“Do you miss it?”

 

“I don’t know.” She took a bite of her lasagna. “Sometimes, but it seems so far away. I don’t feel like the same person.”

 

“I don’t suppose we are the same people.”

 

Her expression was grateful. “No, not really.”

 

They ate in comfortable silence for a bit, and then Cordelia asked, “Do you think we’re going to make it, Wes?”

 

He met her eyes forthrightly. “I’m certain of it.” Wesley grinned. “As long as Angel doesn’t notice all the food you’re putting on his credit card.”


End file.
